Tribute to the Fallen King
by DLotus
Summary: The elves are giving their fallen king a final tribute, and a last goodbye. One short story, take place after the events of "To Have Lost Everything".


**Tribute to the Fallen King**

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The forest of northern Ithilien was coming back alive again, the trees were singing their own lament, as the elves stood silently before the green hill, in which their most beloved and respected king lay buried. The high, slender and young trees of the forest mourned the faith of their lord, the one who had restored the forest so many years ago, only to see it burnt down by the hands of men.

The sun was setting, casting the last light of the day over the young forest. Orange and purple marveled the sky to the west, casting long shadows over the small clearing. The birds began their evening singing, but not the joyous as they used to, this evening, their song was filled with grief and sadness. Their song was joined by the lament of the trees, who seemed to bent over the grave in the middle, almost as they wished to touch it.

Then one elf began to hum, a low and single tone deep in his throat. Another joined him, in a higher and clearer voice, but still the long, monotone tune the first one had sat. one began to sing words, long forgotten and never heard in these part of Arda before. Ancient Sylvan. It did not sound as words, more than sounds, high, low, long and short he held the tones, going up and down in accords. Another joined with a deeper voice, but fallowed the tunes of the sounds.

Then all elves joined the choir, their fair voices was lifted into the air, above the forest, and carried with the wind. The lament was filled with grief, sadness, longing, hope, defeat. So many emotions into one lament, all in honor for their fallen king, who had all his life given everything, sacrifices everything, lost everything. His friends, his family, his kingdom, his life. The elves now gave the what they could to honor him, they sang the most hunting, most beautiful song, mixed with the desperate, grief filled cries of the trees. Even the wind seemed to mourn the loss of such a magnificent elven king.

The song was lifting, the voices growing stronger and higher, more desperate and sad, as they let themselves carry along as the song proceeded. No instruments was used to this hunting song, but the trees, wind and nature itself brought sounds to the lament, the trees sounded like strings, the wind like blowing horns, whispering and caressing the singers, the earth itself as drums, the water rippling, the birds singing along the elves, both high tunes and deep.

Birds came flying from the trees, small, white flowers in their beaks. They gently placed the small flowers on the green grass who covered the grave. Hundreds of bird did this, as the elves sang with tears falling down their pale cheeks. The elven glow emerged from them, lighting the clearing in a soft light, most of them in different green nuances, some more light, almost white.

Some of the elves moved forth and laid a soft hand on the grass of the grave, until everyone had done so. Still singing, they fell to their knees, their song now desperate, grief filled, and sobs was heard mixed with their beautiful and sad voices.

The song was carried with the wind, filling the air over the entire forest. Flowing west, to the white city, where the people all stopped what they were doing, some with tears falling from their eyes, others falling to their knees crying openly. It was carried north to the remains of the greatest elven kingdom of the fourth age, where only death and ashes remained. It was carried west to the Dwarves resident in the glittering caves, where one dwarf in particular fell to his knees, and cried as he never had before. To the Shire, where the Hobbits hearts was filled with an unknown sadness. And last, over the sea, to the white shores of Valinor, where elves stood, both from the Woodland realm, the Golden forest, and the Hidden Valley, looking over the sea to the east, falling to their knees, crying, knowing that the great king had fallen. They would never see those icy blue, but kind eyes, his smile, always gentle, sometimes even mischievous. His fair and melodious voice, wise as the years progressed. Even wise beyond his years he was. His beautiful, silvery white hair, flowing in the breeze, caressing his pale cheek, falling as a glory around his shoulders. They would never again cast their eyes on this magnificent elf. He had made his last sacrifice for his people, and he would forever be missed.

The elves at the grave, still singing out their grief, rose when the sun had set fully, and the stars shone bright on the dark sky above them. The light of the full moon landing on the grave, bathing it in a soft, white glow.

The song changed form, becoming more mystical, as they honored and remembered the one buried next to the king. The one who always protected him, always was by his side. The one who had done so much for their king, sacrifices, bleed. And the one whom had earned the profound love and devotion of their king. He deserved just as much respect, love and honor, and the elves sang to him, this Sylvan woodelf, warrior, first guard of their king, and eventually so much more. He had been loved and respected by the worriers of the forest, and they now payed him their last respect.

The lament changed form again, as the elves sang to both. The song was filled with sadness, mystic, grief and hope, hope that they would find the peace the so deserved, hope that they would be reunited, and live under the stars and trees, protecting each other, comforting each other, as the elves at the grave comforted each other now, joining hands before the great, white stone which marked the sealed entrance to the grave, with the engraving on. The song grew stronger as they reached the climax. They were singing strongly, forcefully, the trees, birds, earth, water and wing joining them, carrying the lament. The moon shone even brighter, lighting up the carving on the white stone, and the two flat ones the elves had placed on either side, engraved beautiful, telling the story of the last elvenking, and his first guard, who now lay beside him inside their last resting place.

One voice rose above the others, a clear and fair voice, flowing with the wind, and rising to the moon. Awenon sang to his lost father, to the one who had taken care of him when his parents died in the flames of northern Ithilien. He sang his lament, his goodbye, and his thanks. He was forever grateful for what he had done, he had taken a lost and orphan boy into his loving arms, raised him as his own. Even though he reminded him of the children he had lost, he had never loved him any less. He had raised him as a prince of the forest, his hair. And now, Awenon sang high and clear, his voice rising above the others, who became silent, only low hums and clear tunes were heard. Even the nature seemed to honor this young one his solo, and only whispered in responds. He sang in desperation and grief. Tears was falling down his cheeks, but he kept his voice loud and clear, not wavering once.

His song was beautiful, felling everyone with love and warmth, even though it was sad. His voice held all the love he had had for his father, this last elvenking. They all understood him, felt with him, for they too loved this king, and felt the grief of the loss.

The elves were singing their goodbye, the last one. This was the end of everything they knew, everything they loved. For centuries, millennia, they had fought and battled side by side with this king, to protect their home, and now, it was all over. The king had paid the final price to protect his people, and made sure they would be safe for always. They owed him everything, and was forever thankful. Never would they forget what he had done, what he had sacrificed.

They made sure that everyone who would come past this grave, would know who lay inside it, what they had done and sacrificed for the safety and love of their people. All the good deeds, all the hunting and terrifying things they had been through together, all they had lost.

 _King Legolas Thranduilion of Eryn Lasgalen  
The Last Elvenking  
Previous Lord of Northern Ithilien  
Born third age 87  
Executed by the hands of Gondor fourth age 123_

 _Rozarko Kalemion  
Bodyguard and previous minder of Legolas Thranduilion  
Date of birth unknown  
Died by order of the king of Gondor fourth age 123._

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End file.
